Scars
by Not Tempest Bound
Summary: When Kate arrives at the Ranger School, she is very unsure of herself, even refusing that her capture was any good. When she runs into someone of her past, she questions her determination to stay at the School. Childhood memories have the ability to scar - for life. It's haunting, and sometimes irreversible.


Scars

Flying Colors

The Pikachu scampers nervously in the middle of the room. Sparks shoot of it—her, I correct myself, looking at the notch in her tail-and she looks skittish. Ha, funny. Skittish. Like a Skitty was chasing, playing with her.

The man that stands behind her seems nice enough-thank Arceus, I don't know what I would've done if he weren't. His brown eyes are the same shade as his closely cropped hair, which I only got a brief glimpse of when he took off his green hat.

The stylus feels cold—which has always reminded me of It. I shake myself out that stupid, idiotic thought train. _Leave. Please. Don't make me remember. I don't need this right now._

Not when I'm trying to get into Ranger School.

I swing the stylus, signaling for it to release a spinning top-looking lasso guide. A bright beam, resembling a rope, trails behind it, and the Pikachu's movements become frantic. I gulp. I know how it feels to be trapped, helpless.

But, unlike It, this won't harm the victim. In fact, this should help her.

After a few quick jerks, the lasso tightens with a pop. The Pikachu looks at me curiously before scampering to the feet of the man. The light coming from the two screens behind him blacks out his silhouette a bit. I see him smile and give a sigh of relief.

That is, I'm relieved until he laughs, snickers sinisterly. "My name, it is Kaplan. You are now part of the inscrutable Team School. Together, we shall rule the world—"

The door behind me slams open. "Oh, please, Mr. Kaplan," says a female voice, and when I whip around, it's an annoyed looking woman with red hair. "Stop scaring the new students."

"But the timing was too perfect to pass up," Mr. Kaplan whines, and I can breathe again. "Sorry. I'm Mr. Kaplan, and welco—"

"Welcome to the Ranger School," the lady says, cutting him off. I hear a huff of annoyance from him. I snicker. "I'm your teacher, Ms. April. We're glad to congratulate you on passing the entrance exam. With flying colors, no less."

Flying colors? Honestly, I think it took a few seconds too long.

"Why don't we say hello to your new classmates, hm?" Ms. April opens the door for me and, as we head out, Mr. Kaplan calls out, "Have fun with school life!"

* * *

><p>The halls are empty except for a lonely Bidoof. I play with the School styler they gave me, fingers twitching. I ignore the urge to capture the Bidoof, if only to avoid embarrassment. What if someone came out and saw my sore attempt at capturing? They'd likely not think I passed with 'flying colors'.<p>

I can hear a few broken conversations through the wood of the door. Nervousness claws at my gut. How many people are in there?

Ms. April's voice only makes my stomach twist tighter. "Now, class, as I told you yesterday, we have a new student."

The room explodes with chatter. Random tidbits survive the cacophony.

"Is it a boy? Or a girl?"

"—they cute? I hope so! Ooh, what if it's a boy? I knew I should've worn my other shoes!"

Ms. April is able to shush the class. She waits a few moments before continuing on, which isn't helping my stress levels. "Now, she's— " a few grumbles here, "—come by herself, all the way from Fiore. Actually, let's have her introduce herself."

I take this as my cue, taking a big gulp of air. I slide open the door and step through, ducking my head as I slide it closed. I feel everyone's eyes on me and my face burns as I walk slowly to the front of the class, staring at my feet.

Ms. April puts a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around so I would be facing the class if I was looking up. Her voice is kind. "Now, what's your name?"

"K-Kate," I stutter, face burning hotter. How could I sound even more idiotic?

"Okay, Kate—Keith, why are you grinning like that?"

My eyes widen. _No. Please, dear Arceus, no._ I look at Ms. April, who glares at the left side of the classroom.

I busy myself with fidgeting with my shorts, gnawing my lip. I tell myself to breathe. In, out, in, out. _It's not him,_ I repeat to myself, an inner mantra. I've had this panic attack before at the mention of the Name. But, every time, it's turned out to be stupid. A fluke, a coincidence.

_I have no need to worry._ I look up and nearly heave.

I see him as he appeared back then: large eyes and thick lashes, rounded face red with mocking laughter, flame-red hair wet and pasted to his head with the rain. But, as I tune into reality, his face has acquired more sever angles and he's let his hair grow out.

Many would call him handsome, but it takes my entire willpower not to run out of the room screaming, to not break down into sobs, to not curl up on myself and whimper like a pathetic, broken Pokémon. My eyes tick to his, and he only grins wider. I duck my head again, willing myself not to cry.

"Never mind. Kate, you can take the seat next to Keith."

I choke down my sob and shuffle over to the open desk. I sit slowly, hoping to create the least amount of noise as possible, and decide to sit with eyes riveted on the wood. I run my fingers over my upper arms, where the scars are hidden by the school jacket. The pain comes back like a flash of lightning, gone before I can grasp it in my hands and throw it out the window.

Beside me, Keith taps his desk with his fingertips. I shy away from him, moving as close to the edge of my seat I can without falling off and making a bigger fool of myself. The tapping stops abruptly.

"Okay, that's it with treating like a new student. From now on, you're all my students, and I mean it when I say I don't want anyone to make Kate feel out casted." Ms. April stops at my desk and places a book on it. "Here, this is about the basics of your styler—a manual, if you will."

I want to tell her that I already know about it, that she doesn't need to give me the book, but I just look up at her and smile enough for her to understand my gratitude for her kindness before dropping my gaze again. I pull my hair so it covers my face from a side angle and hunch my shoulders. No one likes a show-off.

"I've scheduled this period for free study, specifically for our new friend. If anybody needs me, I will be in my office." With that, her footsteps disappear away and out of the room.

"Hey, new kid—I forgot your name," Keith says, and the others congregate around me. I sink lower in my seat. "How long did it take you to catch that Pikachu? An hour?" I flinch at the faint snickers, willing myself not to cry.

"Don't listen to him," says a girl, her voice coming from across the aisle. I glance up shyly and spot a girl with corkscrew platinum blonde hair. Her blue eyes shine cheerily. "Keith's just a show-off. I'm Rythmi, by the way."

"Hey!"

"Ignore him. Ms. April asked me to show you around. Let's go, then!" Rythmi grabs my arm, jerking me to my feet. I yelp as she drags me out of the room and out into the hallway.

Rythmi lets go of my arm, walking towards the other end of the hallway. The hallway resembles a sideways capital h, the classroom on one side of it and where she's heading on the same line. "Come on, aren't you coming?"

I scramble after her as she disappears into a room. It's another classroom.

"This is the other class," she points out quite obviously, and then, pointing to the man at the head of the class with ridiculously over-styled hair, "That's Mr. Kincaid. He teaches the class. I don't like him much. His motto is 'No running in the halls!'. And if you're wondering how he got his hair to swirl like that, one word: hairspray."

I have to laugh about that one.

"She laughs!" Rythmi says, laughing herself.

The man, Mr. Kincaid, scowls and I drop my laughter and gaze immediately. "I hope your friend won't run in the halls, Rythmi."

I gulp. "Y-yes, sir. I w-won't, sir."

Mr. Kincaid simply smiles. "Good."

* * *

><p><strong>Tempest Bound: Oh, dear Lord, this story. The writing was horrible. And, with my OCD, I couldn't stand having it like this. So here you go. I wodner if I'll get a response like last time? I might continue it; the idea itself is salvageable. Maybe.<br>**


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